


Unforgivable Sins

by Eustacia Vye (eustaciavye)



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Abduction, Drug Addiction, F/M, M/M, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-18
Updated: 2011-11-01
Packaged: 2017-10-24 17:44:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/266172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eustaciavye/pseuds/Eustacia%20Vye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur and Ariadne did well following the Fischer job. Though they hadn't heard from Eames in a while, they thought he was doing fine also. He wasn't. He had been on a slow downward spiral since then, and now it was about to accelerate.</p><p>For the prompt <a href="http://inception-kink.livejournal.com/18462.html?thread=42175774#t42175774">"So she's alive?"  "Perhaps."</a> It was high time I took dark!Eames out for a spin... And boy, is this a dark, dark fic. There's kidnapping, addiction, various flavors of consent and squidginess in general. Also for the "prostitution" box of my hc_bingo card.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What You Don't Know Can Hurt You

"I love it when you're devious," Arthur told Ariadne, laughing. They were rolling around in bed together, delighting in the downtime they had. Their last job had been a raging success, and they had made love just about everywhere to celebrate. It didn't matter that Arthur had every curve memorized; he liked relearning her, tasting her all over again, savoring her like a fine wine. Ariadne's eyes twinkled at the compliment.

"It's not my fault they all think I'm a helpless little girl." She laughed and straddled Arthur, her hair tumbling down around her shoulders. "Did they really think you'd let me watch over you if I didn't know what I was doing?"

"They shouldn't have brought in anyone else. Those were _your_ designs, and you are brilliant," Arthur said, running his hands down her back.

She preened a little and she rolled her hips over his. "I built the trapdoors and the traps. You knew those illusions in and out. Of course you'd be able to manipulate it the same way I would. How could they think another architect could undo my work? Or _fix_ it?"

Arthur laughed and pulled her down for a kiss. "They won't ever make that mistake again, that's for sure." Their tongues tangled playfully, and he buried his hands in her hair. "So where do you want to go next? Any city you've been itching to visit?"

"Didn't Eames know a guy in Copenhagen?"

"Eames knows a guy _everywhere._ I haven't heard from him in a long time, but I'm not surprised. He collects identities and contacts left and right."

"Comes with being a forger, I guess."

"Well, I like having one solid identity most of the time. Fake ID's for travel or escape is one thing. I like being me."

"And I like you being you," Ariadne said, grinning.

"Is that all you like about me?" he teased.

"Oh, that's not all," Ariadne replied, voice growing husky. "Shall I show you?"

"Please," he said, voice thick with lust.

"I'm so glad I'm not tired anymore," she said, giggling as she pulled off her shirt. Her giggles turned into a breathy moan as his hands traveled across her stomach then slid upward to cup her breasts. "Arthur..."

"You've gotten downright insatiable," Arthur teased, rubbing at her nipples through her bra.

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

He laughed at the way her voice fractured at his touch. "Oh, no. It's definitely a good thing." Arthur pulled her down on top of him to kiss her, then rolled over on top of her after he unfastened the hooks on her bra. He grinned at the breathless giggle she made, and kissed his way down to her breasts. "They've gotten bigger already."

"Not _that_ much bigger," she laughed. Her laughter turned into a gasp as he pulled one breast into his mouth. "Definitely more sensitive," she moaned, arching up into his touch.

Arthur sucked fractionally harder, then let his hand skim down her side. She helped him get her clothes off, and he slipped his fingers through the curls between her legs. He chuckled when she shifted her legs wider for him, one hand at the back of his neck to keep him at her breast. It was easy to get her wet now. She had always been sensitive to his touch before, but how that was heightened. He kissed his way down until he was licking at her, fingers curled and hitting the spot that always made her buck up. Arthur chuckled at her moans and sucked on her clit. "So glad you're not tired anymore," he teased, kissing the top of her mound.

"Take advantage while you can," she whimpered, writhing beneath his touch. She pulled at the bed sheet, head lolling on the pillow.

"Oh, I intend to," Arthur laughed, licking a stripe across her clit. He teased her into an orgasm, then let her pull him up for a kiss. Ariadne never cared that there was her own taste on his tongue. She pulled at his shirt and pants, laughing when she couldn't get the button through properly. Arthur pulled back long enough to strip off his clothing, then slid inside her. He moved slowly now, taking his time to savor the feel of her slick and warm around him. "I love you," he murmured, leaning down to kiss her.

Ariadne ran her nails down his back gently and grinned up at him. "I know." She leaned up and kissed him, tongue sliding inside his mouth. "I love you too," she gasped, tilting her hips up to meet his. She giggled at his indrawn hiss of breath when she clenched her inner muscles, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. She pressed her face against his neck, panting a little at the feel of him.

"I won't... I'm gonna..." Arthur panted, gritting his teeth.

Ariadne turned and pressed her lips to the underside of his jaw. "Just join me in the shower after this," she said huskily. It was enough to tip him over the edge, and he came.

While Ariadne was in the shower, Arthur called the last number he had for Eames. He left a message asking for the name of a Copenhagen contact he might have, as Ariadne wanted to see the city. A text in return would be fine if he couldn't call back. With that, Arthur grinned and went to join Ariadne in the shower as she requested.

***

Eames met them in Copenhagen, looking almost gaunt compared to the last time they had seen him. That had been several months after the Fischer job, and he had been fresh from a simple extraction at the time. They had all met up for drinks and told wildly outrageous and vaguely inappropriate stories that made each other laugh. Eames had some other job lined up that he was heading to, and apparently dropped out of sight after that. Arthur and Ariadne had kept busy, and had quietly decided that while they wouldn't officially get married, they would exchange rings between themselves. It was simply understood that they were together, and worked jobs as a team after that.

"It's been what? Two years or so since we've last seen you?" Ariadne asked, smiling up at Eames. She touched his arm fondly. "What have you been up to?"

"This and that," Eames replied vaguely. He pulled his lips back in a semblance of a smile, and Ariadne wondered if he was in trouble. "Keeping busy. I don't like staying still." There was a ghost of his charming smile now, and she relaxed a little. "So you've never been to Copenhagen in all your work?"

"Didn't work out that way, and we figured we'd take a break," Ariadne said.

"It's been almost constant for us over the past year, mostly consulting in the past few months," Arthur added. "That last one was a mess, so we can afford to be choosy right now."

"How was it a mess?" Eames asked curiously, escorting them out of the airport.

"Tried to wiggle out of the deal by getting another architect to come in and trap me in the level," Arthur replied with a shrug. "My guess is that they wanted me to take the fall for the extraction so they wouldn't get caught."

"But they did, I'm assuming," Eames replied.

"No one ever takes the little girl seriously," Ariadne said sweetly, laughing. "So it all worked out in the end." She looked up at him guilelessly. "Are we going to swap stories like the last time we all hung out together?"

"I haven't many fun ones," Eames replied with a shrug. "I'd kill the party if we talked about work this time out. Where are you going to be staying?"

"We're staying at the Bertrams Hotel Guldsmeden," Arthur replied, loading their luggage into the car Eames had brought to pick them up in.

"I thought it should be the Hotel Kong Arthur, just for the name alone," Ariadne piped up, nudging Arthur playfully with her shoulder. "Someone thought it was a bad idea."

"Reviews online show that it has bad service, small rooms..." He grinned at Ariadne. "There's more to places than just a name, you know."

Eames smiled faintly at their banter, then slid into the car. "Well, I know where that is. I'll help you get settled, and then we'll all go out for a bite."

"Sounds wonderful," Ariadne said, smiling at Eames. "It's good to see you again."

There was some small talk as they drove to the hotel from the airport, and Eames helped them check in and get their luggage settled. He sat on the bed and smiled at them warmly. "Seems like the years have been exceedingly kind to the both of you."

"We should work together again," Ariadne told him, smiling warmly. "It's been three years, and we never see you anymore."

"It hasn't been that long," Eames said, mouth twitching into a smile. He had his arms crossed over his chest and he drummed his fingers restlessly on his arm. "Certainly doesn't feel like it."

"Time flies when you're busy," Arthur remarked. "Any place you recommend that we should visit first?" he asked.

He had a faint sense of unease about Eames, nothing he could put his finger on. They hadn't exactly been best friends before, but they had always worked well together. There was something a little bit off about the man now, but it didn't add up. If he was being followed or had a contract on him, he wouldn't have agreed to meet them in person. Of that he was certain. If there was something else going on, Arthur wouldn't know. He had completely fallen out of sight in the past two years, and no one had been able to track him. He had kept his old contact information and responded to it quickly, suggesting that it wasn't this identity that had been burned, at least.

Eames flashed Arthur a charming smile, something more like the forger he remembered from two years ago. "I know everything about this city, Arthur. I'm surprised you don't. Surely you've been here before?"

"Once, a long time ago. I didn't stay too long, so I never did get a feel for the place."

"We'll have a lovely time playing tourist, then," Eames said, grinning. He ducked into the bathroom first, and seemed less restless afterward.

They had a good time that night, as well as over the course of the next two days. There were no specific plans for this holiday, no particular job to hurry back to. It was good to be able to spend time with friends, Arthur decided.

On the third day, he returned to the hotel room after his morning jog and swim in the fitness center. He had left Ariadne asleep in their room, curled around his pillow with her hair falling over her face. The room was still dark, shades drawn. She had been up the prior two days, sketching or watching translated television. "Ariadne? You can't be that tired after last night. Time to wake up." Arthur flipped on the light and then wished he hadn't.

Their bed was empty.

Blind panic gripped him and he tore through the hotel room. Ariadne's belongings were scattered across the floor, some of it missing. Some of her clothes were missing from the drawers as well, and a carryon bag was missing from the closet.

What the fuck?

Arthur dialed Ariadne's cell phone number, but he heard the distinctive ring coming from beneath the bed. He retrieved it, and saw a few other random belongings there, as if it had been kicked under the bed in haste to pack. He grabbed her belongings out from under the bed and absentmindedly threw them into a pile near the bedside table. This didn't make sense at all. There were no obvious signs of a struggle, but she _never_ would have left the hotel of her own volition. Someone had to have taken her, but there wasn't anyone actively hunting either of them in Europe. If they had been anywhere near Kenya, Arthur would have wondered if Cobol was still holding a grudge, though that seemed to have faded once Cobb was firmly out of the dream share business.

He dialed Eames' number. He was the only other person that knew where they were, and he had a better read on Copenhagen anyway.

The forger picked up on the first ring. "Arthur. I rather expected this call."

He was entirely too practiced, and it sent off alarm bells in Arthur's mind. "What are you talking about?" he demanded, lips thinning.

"You've lost something important, haven't you?" Eames taunted.

"Where's Ariadne?" Arthur spat. _You fuck, I thought we were friends,_ he wanted to say, but there was too much he didn't know yet.

"In a safe location," Eames purred. It set Arthur's teeth on edge.

"So she's alive?"

"Perhaps."

"What do you want?" Arthur demanded. "I'll make arrangements..."

"I have everything I need, Arthur." There was a sharp coldness in Eames' voice now, something that seemed more in line with the restlessness that would come over him periodically when the three of them had been visiting museums or parks. "You have no idea what's happened now, but I'm going to change everything. Now it's my turn."

Before Arthur could even ask what was going on, Eames hung up. He didn't pick up the other times Arthur dialed back, and any attempt to trace Eames' number led to dead ends.

Eames was good, and if he didn't want to be found, he wouldn't be.

Arthur had to pray that Ariadne would be all right, and that he could track down Eames before anything untoward happened to her. She was important to him, and her life wasn't the only one on the line.

***

Ariadne came to in an unfamiliar room. It was dingy and looked more like a closet than a hotel room. Her head hurt, her mouth was dry and cottony, and her arms were bound behind her. As soon as she realized that, it was a struggle not to panic. Someone had drugged her, kidnapped her, and she had no idea who it was or where she was. She would worry about other potential consequences later; right now she had to get out of here alive.

It wasn't rope around her wrists, and felt more like plastic. Zip ties, she assumed. She couldn't just wriggle out of them or find something sharp to try to cut them. Her hair was over her face, and she peered through it to take in her surroundings a little more closely. She was lying on a mattress on the floor, and there was a single dim bulb hanging overhead. There was nothing on the walls, nothing in the room at all...

No, scratch that. There was an open closet, and the familiar silver case of a PASIV was lying on the floor of the closet.

Her blood ran cold, and Ariadne tried to get to a sitting position to get a better sense of what was going on. Bad enough she had one dose of sedative already. To go under with a PASIV would be horrific, especially if it was repeated exposure.

There was noise outside of the door, and her heart leapt into her throat. It could be whoever had kidnapped her from her hotel room. She didn't know who could possibly want to kidnap her, or who had a grudge against her or Arthur. They'd been flying extremely low beneath the radar, and any government agencies had no idea of their existence. There were no enemies within dream share; even this last job didn't make any serious enemies. Possibly because they were all dead, but still. Ariadne couldn't figure out why she was here with a PASIV in the room.

The door opened, and she saw Eames in the doorway. "Eames!" she gasped. "Thank god you're here. You have to get me out of here. Arthur must be going out of his mind right now." She tried to shimmy off of the mattress to approach him, but something in his expression stopped her. "Eames?" she asked uncertainly.

He was looking at her like a subject, she realized. There wasn't that fond look at her, no affection in his gaze at all. "Yes. He's worried about you, Ariadne," Eames said, voice flat. He had a bottle of water in hand and some snacks. "This is the best I can do right now."

"What are you talking about?" she asked, cold dread seeping into her spine.

Eames approached, closing the door behind him. "I need your help, Ariadne." He tried to flash her a charming smile, but the cold glint in his eyes and the slight tremor in his hands ruined the effect. "I need it pretty fucking badly."

"You could have asked." She leveled him with a glare. "What the hell is going on?"

"Word is, you don't take on jobs anymore, not really. You just consult, whatever that shite means." There was an ugly twist to his mouth, his blue eyes taking her in with an almost mercenary air. "You don't help simply for the sake of helping."

"I thought we were friends," Ariadne said softly, eyes searching his face for some clue of what was going on. "If you'd asked..."

His laughter was harsh and bitter, something edged with loathing that she had never heard from him before. His hand fell heavily on her shoulder, and her skin crawled. There was something off about him, something she couldn't help but react to even if she didn't understand what it was. He wasn't the Eames she remembered, no smiles or jokes to soothe her. She met his bloodshot eyes and wondered if she was in danger.

"Ariadne, not everyone does so well in this profession." His hand moved to her throat, though he didn't tighten his hand. It simply rested there, her pulse fluttering against his fingers. "Not everyone leads a charmed life, hm? Things got fucked up, and you have no idea the favors I owe, the debts I've racked up. You have _no idea."_

"Why didn't you call us, Eames? We'd help you if you asked."

His hand didn't tighten around her throat, but the tension was increased in him. His eyes flashed, and Ariadne couldn't help the spike of fear that shot through her. "I got burned, Ariadne. It all fell apart, and they put the blame on me. I'm surprised you didn't hear of it. Or were you in such a lofty position that you didn't hear anything anymore?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Ariadne said softly, staring at him. "We didn't hear from you, no one we knew knew where you were. Arthur said you do that periodically, if something goes wrong. He left you messages."

"Yeah. Short bullshit pieces." He smiled, though it was a sharp and brittle thing. "You didn't care to really look, did you?"

"What are you talking about?"

Eames laughed, bitterness in his tone. "Still an innocent after all this time? You surprise me, Ariadne. You really do." His eyes glittered, and he licked his lips. "You're going to help me get back on the map. I owe some favors, and you're going to get me out of this mess."

"You could have asked me. You didn't have to do this."

"Oh, yes, I did," he countered, that sharp smile on his face again. "You don't go for this sort of thing, after all. You don't do this. But you will. Now you will, now that you're here. You're going to build me the mazes I need, the hiding places and the rooms. You're going to show me where everything is, and I'm going to get out of this mess. And then if we're both still alive at the end of it, you can go back to Arthur and your shiny little life."

The breath rushed out of her lungs as he threw her down and headed to the closet. Ariadne's mind was reeling, and she still had no idea what he was referring to. "Eames," she gasped, trying to roll to her side. Her eyes widened as he pulled the PASIV from the closet. "You can't. I can't go under, Eames. I _can't."_

The tension in his frame ratcheted up, and he leveled a hateful gaze at her. "Yes, you will."

"No, I _can't,"_ Ariadne insisted. "There's a reason why I've only consulted the past four months," she said desperately as he came closer. "We didn't tell anyone in the business, we couldn't let them know. Eames," she said, her voice rising in desperation as he opened the case and started to lift the container of somnacin. "I'm pregnant."

He froze and stared at her. "What?"

"I can't go under because of the sedation and the somnacin," she said, voice breaking as she willed him to believe her. His eyes shot to her middle, which had thickened but didn't quite have a distinctive baby bump yet. "They're dangerous, and we can't hurt the baby. I can't go under anymore, Eames. I can help you, I can build models and sketches and everything else, but I can't go under with you." There were tears in her eyes. "I'm fifteen weeks pregnant, Eames. I can't hurt the baby."

She never lied, not about something as important as this. He could tell that she wasn't lying. He put the somnacin back into the PASIV and slammed the case shut. "Fuck."

This changed _everything._

And if anything happened to Ariadne or the child she was carrying, Arthur would kill him. He was in enough trouble already, and didn't need that added to it.

"Fuck," he said again, feeling his hands start to shake. "I need another dose," he muttered, more for his own benefit than for hers. "Fuck."

Ariadne watched him go, fear still running through her.

She had no idea what was going on, but she suspected that she was going to find out.

***  
***


	2. An Ocean Of Debris

Eames moved Ariadne twice more "just to be certain," though he mumbled the entire time and kept her locked in the trunk of the car. He repeatedly patted his pockets, as if reassuring himself that something was in them, but Ariadne doubted it was his totem. Hers was back in Paris; she hadn't gone under in months, so she hadn't needed it. She didn't doubt that this was reality, not one bit. Her current fear was too sharp, and Eames' eyes were too wild and sinister at times. He was moving like a man possessed, unable to calm his restlessness even a little.

Ariadne couldn't be sure where they were when he finally stopped and unloaded her. It was a fairly nondescript parking garage attached to a run down looking apartment building. Eames had glared at her when he unlocked the trunk, USP Compact shoved into the waistband of his jeans. "I don't want to use this," he had said, voice hard as steel. "Don't make me."

Somewhere in there was the friend she had known. He couldn't have changed so much in two years, couldn't have devolved into someone willing to kill her to get what he wanted. But the empty gaze scared her, and she couldn't predict anything anymore. Ariadne cooperated, carrying her own carryon bag. She was aware of the gun; while she could probably draw it and hold it on him, she likely couldn't keep it. Eames was taller and still outweighed her, even if he was markedly thinner than he used to be. Not to mention, he didn't have another life dependent on him for survival.

It was a fourth floor walkup, a dingy and tiny apartment with few amenities. There was one small bedroom with a cheap full sized mattress, worn blankets and sheets and a single dresser made of compressed fiberboard. There were clothes in the closet and bars on the windows, threadbare carpeting on the floor. Next to the bedroom was a bathroom just as wide as the tub, with a tiny window facing a brick wall. Mildew was everywhere, and there was chipped and peeling paint on the ceiling. The living room was sparsely furnished, all of its contents stained and well worn.

Eames' hands were heavy on her shoulders. "Welcome home, Ariadne," he said, a mocking lilt to his voice. "I'll even be a gentleman and let you take my bed."

"Where are we?" she asked, looking around. The more detail she absorbed, the more she got the feeling that Eames was in very dire straits indeed.

"Home," he replied, hands tightening on her shoulders a fraction. She understood it for the warning that it was and pressed her lips tightly shut. "I'll bring you supplies, and you'll build for me. You'll make me mazes that will keep projections out and let me go in where I need to go. I need you to do this for me."

Her mind kept sticking on the fact that he should have asked her, should have come to them for help. She didn't say the words, and her breath caught in her throat when he pulled off his outer shirt and stalked around the apartment in a wife beater tank. He was breathing heavily, sweat at his temples and a fine tremor in his hands. That wasn't where Ariadne's eyes went, however. There were nasty burn scars all over his back and left shoulder, twisted and shiny and still a bright, livid pink. He'd been burned literally as well as figuratively, and the awful restlessness in him only seemed to increase once Eames realized she was staring at the scars.

"Take a good look," he snarled, baring his teeth at her. His eyes flashed, and Ariadne nearly took a step back away from him. She held her ground, sure that flinching away from him would only make her look that much more weak. "Look at it, Ariadne. Look at what happens when we're not all as blessed as you are."

"Tell me what happened," she said evenly, even though her insides were recoiling. She had to remind herself that Eames had been a friend, and he didn't want to hurt her. He was in some kind of desperate situation, and he obviously wasn't thinking straight. The tremors in his hands had to mean something, as well as the hitches in his breath and the awful restlessness that set him pacing back and forth with a wild look in his eyes.

"You trust me?" he challenged instead of answering.

"Depends on what it is," she shot back, temper overriding her fear for a moment. "For God's sake, Eames. What's so horrible you can't tell me? That you couldn't come to us for help? We would've helped you however we could."

He bared his teeth and nearly growled at her. "Easy to say after the fact. Easy for you to be like that, like a God on high looking down at the foolish mortals that think they can do anything." He grasped her arms and shook her roughly. "They left me, the fucking wankers. Something went south, something happened, they left me there to take the fall and the entire place was going up in flames. They left me to die, left me to burn to death and take all the blame. And there was blame, Ariadne. Oh, was there blame," he said, his voice bitter. The syllables fell from his lips, sharp and edged like knives. "There was blood and the stink of burning flesh and you can't understand how much pain there is."

"When?" she asked, her voice soft. "We would've come and gotten you. You have to believe me."

Eames let out a frustrated howl and pushed her away from him. She stumbled and had to take a few steps before regaining her balance. He started pacing again, jerky steps indicating his rising agitation. He ran his hands through his hair, pulling at it. Ariadne could see the veins in his arms running thick like cords, the spotted marks that indicated needle punctures. It was a hazard of their profession to look like junkies sometimes, but that was only when actively preparing for a job. The PASIV lines had the very fine, small bore needles anyway; these marks were from larger bore needles. It wasn't all PASIV use, then.

"What are you using?" she asked quietly. "What drugs are you taking?"

He whipped around to face her, eyes flashing in irritation. He saw her line of sight, the marks on the inside of his arm, and he started laughing. "For fuck's sake, Ariadne. Did you really think I would just tell you?"

"Shouldn't I know what you've gotten yourself into if I'm going to help you get out of it?"

The mocking smile melted from his face and Eames turned around abruptly so that he wouldn't face her. He started pacing again, teeth grit tight. "I'm out anyway."

"You're going through withdrawal, then?"

Eames turned. "There's the somnacin. I could use that up." There was a hungry edge to his voice, a thread of desperation there. "Maybe pull another favor once I'm out." He grimaced and pulled at his hair again. "You don't understand. You don't know what it feels like. I had to use so much to look fucking normal next to you two. I ran out faster than I should've."

Ariadne stood there with her back against the wall. She didn't know much about drugs. She knew that sedatives and somnacin were Category D drugs, definite teratogens that had to be avoided in pregnancy. She knew what the effects were when used during a job, in that vague kind of sense that she knew it put her under for the lucid dreaming and if she was kicked out too soon she was groggy and found it hard to think straight until the sedatives left her system. She'd never been the kind to abuse things for the hell of it. She had always been too driven for that in school, and now that she was pregnant, she had a very good excuse not to do anything.

"How are you getting high off of the somnacin? I don't understand. It just makes you dream."

His lip curled in derision. "So high and mighty, aren't you?"

When her confused look didn't change, he turned away from her again. "I'll get you supplies." His hands were shaking, and his breathing resembled a panic attack. "You need to build. You need to make me a maze."

"You know how it goes, the same as with any job. I need to know what's going on with it so I can build a maze that fits."

Eames' eyes widened, and he looked angry for a moment. Then he relaxed when her expression didn't change. "Yeah. Yeah, that's right. That's right. You do. You do that, yes." He ran a hand through his hair and backed up a step. "Can't I just get you supplies now?"

"You need a fix, don't you?" she asked quietly. His eyes flashed at her, but she refused to back down. Turning away from her was answer enough. "I'll stay here, and we'll talk about it when you get back."

"Of course you'll stay." He moved lighting quick, tension in every movement. He dragged her into the bedroom and threw her down onto the bed. He had zip ties in his pocket, a nearly full package of them, and secured a wrist to the edge of the frame. "Now you have to stay. You can't trick me, Ariadne. I know you'll leave. I know you're going to run as soon as you can. They all do. Everyone does, sooner or later."

She tried to open her mouth to contradict him, but the look in his eyes stopped her. He looked like he would actually hurt her, as if he truly wasn't in control of his own actions. "Eames," she said finally, voice weaker than she would have liked to hear it. "I want to help you."

"No, you don't. You just want to get out of here. You want to go back to Arthur." He licked his lips as he stood and turned. "It's all right, Ariadne. I wouldn't want to be here, either. But I've got no choice in the matter. I have to do this. I have to."

He left without a backward glance.

***

Eames looked more like himself when he returned. He was even whistling, and had cardboard, glue, an exacto knife, a ruler, sketchbook, pencils and erasers. There was warm prepared food in plastic bags and a brand new splash of blood at his collar and across his knuckles that wasn't there when he left. "I have food and tools of the trade. Tomorrow I'll even get you vitamins. You need those. Vitamins and minerals and oils to help make babies grow." He took the exacto knife out of its packaging and used it to cut the zip tie. He pocketed the extra blades, making her nervous. Eames was almost manic as he whistled, beaming at her stricken face. "You'll be proud of me, love. I'll take care of this. I'll take good care of this."

Ariadne didn't know how to respond to that, and merely watched as he divided the food he had purchased. "Thank you," she said politely.

He smiled at her, and gesticulated wildly as he described the job at hand. One of the men he owed favors to was involved in drug running; Eames had to extract the location of his main competition's stash. It was expected that he would skim some of it off the top, but the bulk of it had to go to this dealer.

"What is it?" Ariadne asked quietly. "More somnacin?"

"I'd only take the bars of Xanax," Eames replied with a negligent shrug. "That asshole's chemist is cut rate, and his somnacin doesn't mix well at all." He pulled a disgusted face as he recalled the effects he had gone through before he had learned that lesson. "Too many side effects, and dreams aren't nearly lucid enough. They blur at the edges, and everything crumbles. I stick with the higher grade stuff now. It's worth the exorbitant price."

Ariadne wasn't sure exactly how to respond to that, but Eames didn't seem to need her to. He continued with the merits of different dealers' somnacin and sedatives, and the discussion chilled her to the bone. She couldn't keep track of all the different dealers he was buying or selling drugs from, or which name he was telling her went with which dealer. "Martell's probably the most easygoing of the bunch," Eames concluded. "He'll take payment in trade if I haven't the cash." He pushed a forkful of food into his mouth, oblivious to her discomfort.

"What do you know about this guy? The one you're extracting from, I mean," she added quickly, considering she didn't know who Eames might be thinking of. "Any personal details I can use to build a maze or work into the buildings? Any particular theme?"

He stared at her blankly for a moment, as if he didn't understand what she meant. Then the gears seemed to turn in his head, and his gaze sharpened. "Yes. Yes, I know enough about the bloke to do this. Don't need to work around him, find anyone else for this. The fewer involved, the better. I can't go 'round asking others in this for help."

"Why not?"

Eames looked at her almost pityingly. "You have no idea how the world works, Ariadne. None."

Maybe not, but she was starting to suspect that was a good thing. She and Arthur had done mostly corporate work, which was generally less messy and just dealt with espionage, fraud and theft on an international scale. She could keep her illusions about gentleman thieves and that she wasn't doing any particular harm to anyone. Eames was rather casually talking to her about the death and destruction in the grimier parts of the world. Prostitution, human trafficking, drugs and murder were all too common in this world he was in, and Ariadne didn't belong in it. Before this, she would have thought that Eames didn't, either.

Obviously, she was wrong.

"We've protected you too much, haven't we?" he said, reaching out and stroking her cheek. For a moment she could see the old Eames in his expression. For a moment there was the same fondness and quick smiles, the teasing gestures and ready grin as he suggested something rash that invariably worked in dreams.

He patted her cheek a little too roughly as he leaned back in his seat. "Well, I'll do what I can, of course, but there isn't much here. Hard enough for one most of the time, let alone two-almost-three, but I'll see what I can do." He flashed her an almost manic grin, and there was a slight tremor in his hand again.

Suddenly she was very afraid he was about to crash.

Eames shoveled another forkful of food into his mouth, then jumped to his feet. "The bastard is from here. This kind of place, I mean." He gestured wildly around them, eyes glittering. "This is the world he lives in, no airplanes or dreams or shit you can escape from. He's another bottom feeder, another bastard with no ties, no family, no nothing to keep him back. He's another nameless idiot about to get his throat slit because he hasn't the sense enough to keep his fucking mouth shut. So I get to shut it for him."

Ariadne stared at him. "I'll put something together for you, walk you through it."

"Not under, though," Eames said, almost resentfully.

"I can't," she said earnestly. "It's not safe. I can't do it."

Unconsciously, Ariadne's palm pressed against her stomach, as if she could protect her unborn child with the added layer of flesh. He didn't miss the motion, though his eyes flicked past her to the closet again. There was something in his eyes, almost like pain and regret. "I could make you," he said softly, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. "I could say hell with it, fuck the baby, fuck it all. I could pin you down and slide the needles in. You can't stop me. You're not strong enough."

"You have to sleep sometime," Ariadne replied without thinking, jaw tightening.

Eames looked at her, at the fierce look in her eyes, the coiled tension in her body, as if she was readying to spring at him. He laughed, an erratic and grating sound. "Not yet," he said with a baring of teeth that was meant to be a reassuring smile. "I'm not that desperate yet."

She didn't feel any better when he left the room to let her work. He still had the extra knife blades, the PASIV and both height and weight over her. Eames was standing in the wreckage of his own life, and he was dragging her down with him.

***

Ariadne had drawn intricate maps and sketches with painstaking detail to go with the scale model of the dream world that she built. It was usually enough for Arthur to recreate in a dream, and he had no complaints about that kind of work. Taking people under to learn the map ahead of time usually was more for a walkthrough than out of necessity, but it was a step she used to love more for the first gasp of shock in seeing the details in the flesh.

Apparently, Eames couldn't recreate the level.

He stormed into the apartment, an ugly bruise along his jaw and more raw scrapes along his knuckles and wrists. He was wearing different clothes, these more ill fitting and off the rack of a thrift shop. Eames' eyes snapped and crackled, and he snarled at Ariadne. "It collapsed!" he cried, kicking over the cardboard model she had painstakingly glued together for him. "It all went to hell, and everything fucking collapsed around us!" He let out another cry of frustration and dug into his pocket for a metal case. Inside of it were bar-shaped pills, and he took two. He dry swallowed them, grimacing at the taste.

"What are you talking about?" Ariadne cried, concerned. "Didn't it work? Didn't the map work?"

Eames crashed down to his knees and stumbled forward toward her. She was still tied to the bed by one wrist, and he pressed his face into her knees. She could feel hot tears through the fabric of her pants, and some part of her felt sorry for him. She saw the twisted mass of scars beneath the edge of his shirt collar, knew that he had lived through a rough two years. "I took him down, and it was beautiful, Ariadne. It looked like your drawings, it felt like it used to. I thought it would work. Now that I had you with me, now that I wasn't trying to remember old levels, it would work. It had to work," he said, looking at her with a miserable expression. Sobs wracked through him, and he clutched her hips tight.

"What happened?" she asked softly, touching his face and wiping the tears from his cheeks. He flinched at her touch, but didn't otherwise move. "If it looked the way it was supposed to, how did it all collapse?"

"The world crumbled," he said, voice soft and plaintive like a child's. Another shudder went through him, but this time his hands loosened their grip. "It was like an earthquake, like someone waking up and leaving you behind. I was falling, falling, everything crumbling and ripping apart. I couldn't hold it together. I couldn't keep him under, couldn't make him tell me anything. Fuck, Ariadne, I _tried._ I tried so hard, and I just couldn't make it work..."

She reached for his hand and let her fingers run over the cuts and bruises. "Did he hurt you?"

"A man does desperate things when he's dying, Ariadne."

It was answer enough and not at all, but she wasn't about to push. "Cut me loose and we'll clean you up."

The agitation bled out of him and he nodded. He took a knife from his pocket and cut her loose without a word. She could take the knife and run, she realized. The Xanax was kicking in, and his eyes were starting to glaze over a bit.

But she also couldn't leave him behind like this. Somewhere was the friend he had been once, and there had to be a way out for him. There had to be something she could do to help him get better, to get him on the right track.

Eames sat on the closed toilet seat and stared at the wall as she took a wet washcloth to dab at the bloody cuts. It hadn't been clean to start with, but she did the best that she could. He didn't even wince when she pressed into the bruises, didn't whimper when she rubbed at the needle marks to clean them. Ariadne looked at him critically as she worked on cleaning him up. She moved slowly, not wanting to startle him, but he seemed almost incapable of being startled by anything at that moment. He was such a far cry from the man she remembered. How could he sink this low in two years?

Ariadne touched his shoulder. "Eames. You need antibiotic creams or peroxide. _Something._ These might get infected otherwise."

He pulled her close abruptly and pressed his face into her stomach. He sobbed like a child, his arms around her. "I'm sorry," he whispered. She had to strain to hear him over the pounding of her heart. "I'm sorry I ruined everything, Ariadne. I'm so sorry, you have no idea. I'm sorry. I can't stop. I can't stop..."

She ran her fingers through his hair and closed her eyes. "Please, call Arthur. He'll know what to do. He can help you. He knows people..."

"They'll kill me," he said instantly. "They'll be gunning for me. They won't give me a chance, and I'll be dead. I can't let that happen." He pulled back and looked at her concerned face. The tears were gone, and there was something sharp and ugly in his gaze again. "I'll take care of you, Ariadne. You and I, we'll figure something out."

"Eames..."

"It was a good try, I'll give it that. Your drawings, the model... We really tried. You didn't know it would fuck up, but we can't do that again." His smile was sharp edged, his eyes glittering. "It's going to be okay, Ariadne. I'll fix this. You have to trust that I'll fix this mess. It will all be okay sooner or later. I'll fix this."

"How?" she asked softly. She didn't want to push him when he seemed too volatile, but she couldn't trust him, either.

"There are dreams, and there are more than dreams." He was vague, and his eyes slid away from hers. He shook his head. "I know what I need to do, Ariadne. Trust me, I'll get the money, and it will all be okay. I will take care of you, and we're going to be okay. I'll make sure it's okay." He smiled, wide and eager and just a touch too crazed. "I'm very good at what I do, Ariadne. You'll see. You don't know this world, but I do. I'll fix this."

There were tremors in his hands when he pulled her back into the bedroom and tucked her in like a child. He laughed bitterly when he saw the tremors, and sat down beside Ariadne. Her stiff posture didn't seem to bother him. He rested his hand over her stomach, which wasn't comforting at all. "I'm risking so much, you have to understand this. You have no idea what's out there. I have to protect you from it. It's a mess out there, an ocean you can't ever hope to wade through. I have to protect you, Ariadne."

She thought of mentioning Arthur again, of saying that she knew how to handle a gun. If she had to, she would probably use it on Eames.

"I'll take care of us." There was something desperate in his eyes as another tremor rolled through him. "I know what I need to do, and it will all be okay."

"Eames," Ariadne began slowly. "You have to let me help you. I can't if you don't tell me what's going on. You can't just keep me in the dark about it."

He curled up on the bed next to her, his head pillowed on her stomach. She froze as he stroked her hip through the thin blankets. "You can't know," he crooned. "You shouldn't know, shouldn't ever have to face these kinds of choices. You have the little one to think of. We have to protect this little innocent. Can't have it deformed and addicted to the same shit I'm on." He gave a bitter, mirthless laugh. "Fuck up its life from the get-go, ruin it before it's even born. Might as well just rip it out of you if it ever comes to that." He looked up, eyes bright but unseeing the horror on her face. "We'll keep it safe. We'll keep it secret. You have no idea the evil out there, the ones that would come around here as soon as they know you're here."

"You have to let me help you," Ariadne insisted. "I can help you if you let me."

"You _are_ helping," Eames contradicted, resting his head back against her stomach. "I can't hear it. Too soon, maybe." A shudder wracked through him. "Can't ruin it, Ariadne. We can't ruin its little life before it even begins. I'll be so good to you, I swear it. I'll make this up to you. I'll fix this."

 _He's crashing,_ she realized numbly. Whatever the high was, it was crashing down now and he was starting to tremble. She shifted her arm and laid it across his shoulders. He started crying, and she curled her fingers into his hair. This was Eames, she had to remind herself. He was twisted and broken somehow, cast adrift in the years since she had seen him last. He didn't mean to do this, didn't mean to terrify her. He was caught up in something harsh and ugly, and he still thought he had to take care of everything himself.

She wondered if this was what it was like to have a shade. All of Arthur's stories about Cobb with his shade had been tales of erratic behavior, being unable to build or sustain dreams, having trouble keeping stories straight. If Arthur hadn't been there, Cobb never would have survived in the dream share business. He would have crashed and burned, caught by authorities and thrown into prison for murdering Mal.

Ariadne started humming a lullaby, something her mother used to sing to her at night. Eames' sobs quieted and slowed, the tremors starting to get smaller. She continued, beginning to sing the words, and Eames merely clung to her like a child.

"I'll fix this," he promised sleepily. "It will all be okay in the end. I'm going to make it okay somehow, I promise you."

She didn't believe him, so she remained silent and let him sleep.

***  
***


	3. Carelessness of Running Away

Eames remained in the apartment for the next three days, popping Xanax pills like candy every three hours. He was twitchy, standing at the windows and peering out of the corners of the blinds as if he expected someone to be standing at the street corner staring up at him. Any movement Ariadne made startled him, and he had the USP Compact tucked into the small of his back at all times. She tried puttering around his tiny excuse of a kitchen, but there wasn't much to do in it and not much food overall.

The difficult part came when the pills ran out.

He was even twitchier at first, his gun in hand at all times. His finger was over the trigger guard at least, and it wasn't primed with a chambered bullet as far as she could tell. He had never kept his gun that way before, anyway.

Eames' breathing was growing increasingly erratic, as if he was trying to control a panic attack and failing miserably. His eyes darted everywhere, and sweat broke out along his temples. He paced with jerky steps, avoiding the windows whenever possible. In the prior three days, Eames had locked Ariadne in his bedroom if he had to use the bathroom. He kept licking his lips and looking around the room wildly, as if seeing things that weren't quite there. Ariadne willingly retreated to the bedroom to keep out of his way. She didn't know how to deal with this, and wasn't about to try to learn now.

He growled at one point and crashed into the wall between the living room and bedroom, startling Ariadne. She stood in the doorway uncertainly, not sure what she could do. His eyes darted everywhere, as if seeing things she couldn't. His tremors were worse, she realized suddenly, and she wondered if he was having a seizure. "Eames?"

"You have to put out the fire," he gasped. "I can't... it's everywhere..."

Heart in her throat, Ariadne knelt beside him as he cowered on the floor. "Eames. There's no fire. We're both going to be okay."

"It's not going to be okay. It's never going to be okay. I can't..." His face twisted in agony and he dropped his gun to dig at his throat with his nails. Ariadne took the gun from him to keep it out of his reach, and he didn't notice it. "Fuck. I did the job. I did everything they asked of me. Dumb fuck couldn't keep his mouth shut." He grasped Ariadne's arm, his eyes wide and desperate. "You can't leave me here, darling. You can't. It's not human. It's not right. You can't leave me here like this, please!" he cried, hand tight enough to bruise. He was hyperventilating, and Ariadne could almost feel his panic like a tangible thing.

"I'm not going to leave you in a fire," Ariadne said firmly, enunciating each syllable carefully enough that he could understand her despite his panic and hallucinations. "Should I get you the somnacin?" she asked, swallowing nervously. She couldn't believe she was about to help him get high on something, but this was awful.

"I did the job. I did the job," he kept repeating, rocking and scratching at his throat. His eyes started moving everywhere again, and she had to wonder how clear the hallucination even was. Fire, as scary as it might be if uncontrolled, didn't move in quite so rapid a fashion.

Ariadne peeled his fingers off of her arm and moved to the bedroom for the PASIV. There were four vials of somnacin in the case, and she had no idea how much would be equivalent to the pills he had taken before. It was short acting, she knew that much. She might be doing him more harm than good.

Eames slid further down the floor and curled around himself in an almost fetal position. He was making moaning sounds, and he was starting to shake even worse than before. The shaking was enough to uncurl him a little, and his eyes had rolled up into the back of his head.

"Oh, God, Eames!" Ariadne cried. She yanked one of the bottles of somnacin out of the PASIV case and found needles and a syringe in the case lining. It wasn't part of the standard setup, but the needles were large bore and matched the prior track marks along the inside of his arm. This had to be what he used when pills weren't available.

Guessing completely, Ariadne drew up a quarter bottle of somnacin and injected it into one of his visible surface veins. It was probably a horrible job, but the somnacin seemed to go in; within a minute the shaking lessened and his eyes closed. Eames' breathing evened out and he seemed to be asleep.

Sitting back on her haunches, Ariadne carefully withdrew the needle and put pressure on the entry site with Eames' sleeve. She tossed the needle into the small sharps container in the PASIV case and pulled her legs under her. She couldn't look at Eames' face; it was unlined now in sleep, but she wanted to cry.

She had his gun and he wouldn't be able to stop her from leaving. But she didn't know where she was, and there was no way in hell she could leave him this way.

"What are we going to do?" she sobbed, finally breaking down into tears. She wanted Arthur so badly, and had no idea where Eames' phone was. There was no way to get in touch with Arthur otherwise, no way to let him know she was all right.

Eames slept, his breathing finally even. He was a mess, and she couldn't let him face this alone.

***

"You're still here," Eames rasped. He had dreamed of terrible fires, as he had been doing off and on over the past two years. This wasn't the first time he'd been out of pills, and as much as delirium tremens could be lethal, so far he'd gotten lucky.

Apparently, he had Ariadne to thank for this particular episode.

She had sat down on the floor and pulled his head into her lap. He could see tear tracks on her face, and for a moment he was profoundly ashamed of putting her through this. She was an innocent, really. All she knew was corporate crime, and all of that had been glamorized. She had never had to see something like this before, never had to nurse someone back from a crash. To be honest, this one wasn't even all that bad.

Eames reached up and touched her cheek. "I thought you'd be long gone, first chance you got."

"You're my friend," Ariadne said, voice hoarse. She caught Eames' hand with hers, and he saw the simple ring on her finger, seven princess-cut diamonds set in a channel band. He hadn't noticed it before, and knew it as the understated and expensive declaration of love that it was. "I couldn't leave you like this."

"I'm gonna need more, you know," he rasped. "I can't stop."

"You don't want to," she said sadly. "You think you need that."

His smile was soft and mournful. "I don't think. I know."

***

Eames had told her to stay in the bedroom with the door shut, that she wouldn't want to see what he had to do next. She heard him call someone and speak in hushed tones, and she wondered what horrible thing was going to happen next. Within twenty minutes someone arrived at the apartment, and Ariadne left the bedroom door a crack. He had his gun again; she very well couldn't keep it with his bulk towering over her and she wasn't willing to use it on him. Eames stalked across the length of the living room the entire time he was waiting, and he opened the door in relief. "You brought it?" he asked the thin man at the door. He was of mixed descent, with long stringy black hair and a ring in his lip. There were tattoos along the exposed skin of his wrists and neck; the rest of his body was covered up in a button down collared shirt, baggy jeans and a black trench coat.

"'Course, whaddaya take me for?" he asked with a thick South London accent. "Ready?"

Eames glared at him, yanking him inside the apartment. "Gimme."

"Needing fixing or what?" the man asked, a knowing smile on his face. He laughed when Eames pulled on his coat, then frowned when Eames tried to rifle through his pockets. "Oi! Nigel, you get it when I do. You done it before, you know it good."

He was twitchy, tugging at the coat. "Then let's start. I need those fucking pills."

"I know you do," the man in the trench coat said soothingly, patting Eames' arms. He shrugged out of the coat and gingerly put it down on the end of the ratty couch. "Sit, then. Most of my stash is used up, I got to get more. So you get off easy this time." He grinned as if it was a joke, not seeming to care that Eames was scowling at him. He gestured to the couch, and Eames sank down on it in a graceless heap. "Nigel, Nigel, Nigel. I done told ya, no one else 'round these parts likes you as much as I do. You can do better than this."

Eames glared at the man as he unzipped his fly. "Did you want to do the work?"

The man tapped Eames' face in an unfriendly gesture, something that wasn't quite a slap. "Don't mouth off to me, mate. I'm doing you a favor. You know I ain't well liked here."

"I need it, Griffith. Take your time later. I'm in fucking need here."

Griffith had an absolutely mercenary smile. "Yeah, you are. You are. Beg me, then. Beg me to suck you off." His grin was filthy. "I'm sorry I didn't have more, mate. It's been a long time since I've fucked you." He grasped Eames' chin tightly, enough to make him wince. "I'll get more, you know I will. And I'll leave you gasping for it."

Ariadne wanted to look away from the doorway, but it was a dread fascination that made her keep watching. She couldn't see anything, the angle was all wrong for that. But there was nothing left to the imagination as Eames stood and pulled off everything to bare himself to Griffith's view. The skinny man looked at Eames in such greed before pushing him back down onto the couch and dropping to his knees. The arm of the couch blocked the actual act, but she could see Griffith lean forward, could see his entire body move with the effort of what he was doing. She turned away and leaned against the bedroom wall until Eames' grunts were over.

"Gimme a few days," Griffith told Eames. Ariadne didn't move back to see what he was doing, but she could hear the smile in his voice. "You can make this last that long can't you? Greedy fuck," Griffith said fondly. "Careful you don't run low, yeah? Wouldn't want that beautiful ass to die before I get it again."

Eames mumbled something Ariadne couldn’t quite hear; she jumped a little when the front door slammed. He moved to the bedroom, dressed again, and stood in the doorway looking at where she was sitting on the floor. "I'm good," he told her.

No, he wasn't. She looked up at him incredulously, and he simply smiled at her as if nothing untoward had even happened. "What in God's name are you talking about?"

He shook a prescription bottle, a wide smile on his face. "I'm good."

"So you trade your body for drugs?"

The smile slid right off his face and Eames pocketed the bottle abruptly. "I'm going out. Do I need to lock you in?"

"Where would I go?" she asked rhetorically.

Eames considered that as if it was serious question, nodding slightly. "I'll lock the door."

Ariadne could only stare as he slammed the bedroom door shut and turned over the deadbolt that was on the door.

She wondered who else he had locked in here, and how long he planned to keep her.

***

He returned with food and another change of clothes. These were actual maternity clothes, and she looked at him wordlessly. "You're going to get big, right? You need stuff. Women always need stuff, especially if babies are going to be involved."

She was sixteen weeks pregnant. She missed her next prenatal checkup, and in another month would be the sonogram to tell her the sex of the baby. Ariadne didn't plan on being here that long, but she had missed her opportunity to run. Somehow she didn't think he would give her another chance. "Thank you," she murmured, taking the clothes. It felt like such a lame thing to say, as if she was condoning what he was doing.

It made Eames light up. "See? I'll take care of you. We'll make this work, I'm sure of it."

"Make what work?" Ariadne asked frowning.

"I can try again. Maybe this time the map will hold. Maybe this time..."

She was starting to get a bad feeling about the distant look in his eyes. "Eames? How many times did you fail an extraction?"

Eames swiveled his gaze to stare at her. She refused to back down, and he looked away first. "It's been five jobs now. I can't hold a forge. That was the first to go. Then everything crumbled to dust all around me. I can't hold the mazes and buildings."

"It's the drugs," Ariadne told him in concern. "Your concentration is shit with them."

"It's worse without them," he snapped. "You've seen it. You've watched me nearly die, and that wasn't even a bad one." He grabbed her shoulder. "The next one will work. I'll do whatever I need to, Ariadne, don't you forget that."

"When's the last time you took a pill?" she asked evenly.

He growled at her and pushed her aside. "You think I can't do jobs," he said, reaching into his jacket pocket for the prescription bottle.

"There's a reason why people in the business aren't drug addicts," Ariadne told him. "They can't remember the information, can't remember why they're there and can't follow the plan."

"Ever think about how addictive somnacin is?" Eames shot back. "It takes you under quick. You dream, can do anything you want. Fucks with your sleep long term, screws up everything so that you don't know what's real and what isn't anymore if you use it long enough. Leaves you with dry mouth and that feeling you're still half awake if your chemist can't cut that out of the dose well enough." He was stalking forward, and Ariadne walked backward with each step. At this point, her back hit the wall.

"That's not something that sounds appealing," she told him, hoping she didn't look or sound as scared as she felt.

"It's the dreams," he said, running his fingers along the curve of her cheek. "The _dreams,_ Ariadne, the sheer power... I need it, more of it. Everything's gone then. No pain, no frustration, no double dealing assholes looking to set me up." He moved his hand to the base of her skull and tightened his hand in her hair, forcing her to look up at him. "They're so thick you can taste them, so vivid it feels real. That's what I need. That's what I want."

"But you can't dream anymore, can you?" she asked quietly. "Even if you take more, you can't dream," she guessed.

Eames bared his teeth in a grimace. "Can't stop me from trying," he snarled.

"It doesn't make any sense," she said quietly. "Everybody told me that if you use somnacin long enough you won't dream naturally anymore. Even with everything else in your system..."

"I just need a clean enough dose," Eames told her, eyes flashing wild for a moment. "I haven't found it yet, but I will. The shit I got is close, and I can almost dream again." His smile grew mercenary. "But if I need to, you can help me earn it. You'll help me get the money I need for it, yeah? Somnacin ain't cheap."

"I said I'd help you with designing levels," Ariadne reminded him.

"But I know a bloke. I've been thinking about this," he said, licking his lips and looking almost panicked and nervous. "I know a bloke. He gets off on force. And you don't even look pregnant right now. Well, yeah, I know you are and I know what you looked like before, but it's not too obvious yet." He pushed on despite the growing horror in her expression. "Just tie you down, let him go at it. He'd be willing to pay lots of money." He gave her a mirthless smile. "Pretty girl like you, ready for it and going to scream? Oh yeah, he'd pay lots of money. And he'd pay more if I fucked him at the same time."

"You do that," Ariadne said, only a slight tremor in her voice, "and then you better not sleep ever again. You won't have to worry about what Arthur will do to you. I'll kill you myself."

Eames licked his lips, his hand tightening and loosening around the fistful of hair. "It's a lot of money, Ariadne. A lot of money."

"You ask yourself if it's worth my killing you."

"It's a lot of money," he repeated, a desperate moan to his voice. "These pills won't last long enough, Ariadne. Only a few days, and then I'm out again. They don't last. They never last long enough. You don't understand this. You don't feel like this, don't know what I'm going through like this. I can't think, I can't eat, I can't sleep. I can't do _anything._ I'm crawling out of my fucking skin," he whined, leaning his body flush against hers. Ariadne pushed at his chest, but she couldn't move him. "I want to peel it off, I can't sit still. My heart's so fast in my chest, I think it's going to break open my ribs. I can't live this way, Ariadne. I can't. This is awful. I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy. You don't understand. Even the ones that burned me and left me to die, I wouldn't wish this on them. It _hurts,_ Ariadne. I'm in so much pain I can't fucking stand it."

"You need to get help, then," she told him, voice steady. "Stop selling yourself for a bottle of pills that don't even last long enough. You need help, Eames. I don't know how to help you, but I'll help you get there."

Eames pushed himself away from her, hand opening to release her hair. "No one can help me, darling. The pills push it all away, and then I'm normal for a little while. An hour or two at a time, God help me. That's all I can ask for right now."

He left the bedroom, then turned and leveled a baleful glance at her. "If you won't help me with this, I'll have to do it myself."

Ariadne didn't move even after she heard the click of the deadbolt sliding into place.

***

"Griffiths is coming back," Eames told Ariadne abruptly as she munched on the no frills cereal that Eames had gotten her. He complained about all her trips to the bathroom, how expensive prenatal vitamins were and all the food she had to eat, but he still got it for her. She also noticed that sometimes he didn't eat even though he made sure that she did. She felt vaguely guilty when he turned down her offers to share, even when she could hear his stomach growling.

"And?" she prompted when he lapsed into silence, his brows furrowed in thought.

"He has more. It won't be quick like before." He looked up at her. "I'd have to hide you in the closet or in the bathroom." He frowned even more deeply. "He might want to use the bathroom. That won't work. Maybe the closet, then."

"What are you talking about?"

"Hiding you, of course," he said, sounding as if it was a stupid question. "He can't see you, can't know that you're here. You're not for sale, even if I am, right? So he can't think you're even an option." He frowned. "I'll need a new place eventually. You'll need a better place to hide than in the closet."

"Eames. There has to be another way," Ariadne said, looking at him intently. "You're putting yourself at such risk with this. Your health, your sanity... Eames, you can't do this to yourself," she said, resting her hand on his arm. "It's not worth it."

He pulled her close and kissed her forehead. "You're still precious. Such an idealist. This is why I need to protect you from it. You don't understand, but I don't want you to."

"Eames..."

Ignoring her protests, he grasped her wrists and zip tied them together. "I'd rather not gag you if I don't have to," he murmured, kissing her forehead again.

"I need to go to the bathroom," Ariadne whispered.

"Last visit. He'll be here soon." He didn't cut the ties, and waited outside of the bathroom, facing away with the door a crack open.

It was humiliating and she wanted to _hurt_ him for this. It was awkward with her bound wrists, but she managed to clean herself up afterward. Eames shut her into the closet and then paced through the bedroom and living room. It must have been another ten minutes before Griffiths arrived. Muffled voices drifted in from the living room, and then they became clearer as the two moved to the bedroom. "I brought what I need," Griffiths was saying. There was the thud of something hitting the floor near the bed. Ariadne could hear rustling cloth, and the sound of a wet kiss. "I knew it was only a matter of time before you called me back, Nigel."

Eames didn't say anything in reply, and Ariadne wondered what he was doing. She could hear the indrawn hiss of breath that Griffiths made, then after a moment the soft whining noise from deep in his throat. "Yeah," he was saying, voice rough and guttural. "I like that. You know how to be a good little bitch." Now his voice was almost a growl. "On your knees."

Ariadne could hear Eames climbing onto the bed, then came the sounds of a bottle of lube being opened and used. Eames made a few grunts, sounding uncomfortable. She hoped Griffiths wasn't hurt him, but somehow couldn't put it past him. Eames needed him, after all. He was the one that needed the pills so badly that he was willing to do anything to get them.

"Yeah," Griffiths groaned after a moment. It didn't quite mask the grunt of pain from Eames, and Ariadne bit her lip to keep from making noise. She could hear the slap of skin on skin, the grunts of pain from Eames. "Whore," Griffiths said at one point, and Eames yelped at whatever he did. "Shut the fuck up," Griffiths growled. There was the sharp cracking sound of a slap, distinct from the prior noises. "You like this." Another slap, another pained noise from Eames. "You want this. Fucking whore." Eames yelped again, and there was the sound of hands scrabbling across fabric.

Ariadne didn't bother to stop the tears that were falling. Griffiths finally went silent, and there was a sucking sound after a moment. "You're filthy," Griffiths commented idly, as if he hadn't just hit and demeaned Eames repeatedly. "Go on, lick me clean. I'll toss in a little extra if you do." She could hear the smug smile in his voice, and heard the creak of the bed as Eames moved to do what he asked. Griffiths made a soft, satisfied sigh, then after a while moved. "Enough," he said, voice sharp. "Shit, too sensitive."

"Where are the pills?" Eames asked, voice hoarse.

"I'll get 'em," Griffiths said, his voice closer to the closet suddenly. She could hear him pick up clothes and shake them out. He dug around in a pocket, then tossed something at Eames. She heard him catch it, heard the rattle of pills inside a bottle. Eames was already opening it, no doubt needing another fix. "It's good shit, Nigel. Worth the effort, yeah?"

"Yeah," Eames replied, his lost voice making Ariadne's heart ache for him.

Even after they left the bedroom, Griffiths didn't leave the apartment right away. Ariadne couldn't hear anything despite straining to listen, trying to figure out what was going on. There was a sudden crash that made her jump, and the rough sound of Griffith's laughter and the low rumble of Eames' reply. Finally there was the sound of the front door closing, then silence again. After another minute, Eames came to the bedroom and opened the closet door. His clothes were askew, his hair mussed and his eyes were carefully blank. "He's gone," he told her unnecessarily. "You can come out now."

Ariadne refrained from saying anything caustic. Her legs had gone numb, and she needed Eames' help to stand. He cut the zip ties around her wrists, unable to meet her gaze. "Are you all right?" she asked finally.

"What do you think?" he asked, voice sharp and angry. Ariadne assumed it was shame coloring his voice, knowing that she had heard everything. He was judging himself for what was happening, assuming she was thinking nasty things about him.

"You've been better," Ariadne replied, searching his face for some kind of response.

"Yeah." He turned away and went to the living room, then flopped onto the couch.

He didn't say anything else for hours.

***

Arthur had his arm around her shoulders, and they were sitting on the beach in the Riviera watching the sun set. "It's beautiful here," he said, turning to press his lips to her temple. "Maybe we should stay here. Settle down in one place, have a base of operations."

Ariadne laughed at his choice of words. "Base of operations? You mean a _home,_ right?" she teased. She leaned into him as he smiled, dimples showing. "That would be nice. Have a steady place to go back to."

"We'd have to make sure it's protected, of course," he said. "The best security systems, different identities, the usual. There would be travel involved for jobs, of course, but we'll figure out how to do that with the baby. We can make it work." He rubbed her arm gently. "You're important to me." His other hand moved to her stomach, still flat. "You're both important to me. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"You're never going to have to find out," Ariadne replied, covering his hand with hers. "I'm not ever going anywhere."

Arthur kissed her, and they watched the sun slip down past the horizon. "I love you."

Ariadne smiled, never tiring of hearing the words. "I love you, Arthur."

She woke suddenly, still expecting to feel the cool sea breeze and the gritty sand between her fingers. Instead, she was lying on a sagging mattress with several threadbare blankets on top of her, Eames curled up around her and snoring. He clutched her close as if she was a lifeline, the only thing that could save him.

Maybe she was. He didn't expect much from the business and didn't think he was really worth saving in the long run.

Blinking back tears, Ariadne let one hand fall to Eames' shoulder. She could feel the misshapen whorls of skin beneath his shirt, the constant reminder of his prior failure. _I did everything they asked of me,_ he had said.

Sometimes your everything wasn't enough. Sometimes you still failed.

***  
***


	4. Memories In Cold Decay

"I found another place," Eames began slowly, almost hesitantly. He was eating ramen noodles for dinner and she had the pasta and fried bologna. Ariadne didn't have the heart to tell him she wasn't supposed to be eating deli meats, and it tasted good anyway.

"Where is it?" she asked, brows pulling into a frown.

"Still in the city," he said vaguely, waving his chopsticks about. "Smaller, but two rooms. It's a shared bath, but you'd have your own bed."

Ariadne suspected he would still lock her in at night, but nodded as if she found the idea agreeable. "When would we move?"

"Tomorrow," he said, plunging his chopsticks back into the Styrofoam cup. He didn't quite meet her eyes. "Stuff has to be arranged. That sort of thing."

"Does Arthur know where we are?" Ariadne asked softly, watching his expression carefully.

Eames' head snapped up. "No, and he won't. I've taken steps."

"What steps?" she asked, curious.

"You're the only one that knows me as Eames," he said. "Everyone else here knows me as something different. Several something different. Most don't know dream share." His eyes narrowed at Ariadne. "I'm going to protect you. You don't have to worry about what's out there. I won't let it touch you."

He still had his pills, then. If he was close to running out, Ariadne had no illusions about his ability to threaten her.

"Wouldn't it be easier to talk to someone?" she asked quietly. "It would be easier for you if you didn't have to worry about me. And couldn't you get money from Arthur or Yusuf or whoever else?" She kept her tone light and conversational, not wanting to push him one way or another.

Eames slurped the water in the cup. "No," he said shortly. "That world is dead to me. I can take care of you myself. I got you into this mess, I can get you out of it."

"Getting me out of it means letting me go back to Arthur," she said quietly.

"You don't think I can take care of you, do you?" he asked.

"I think this is going to be harder than it really has to be," Ariadne replied.

He was silent for a long moment, long enough that Ariadne was starting to get uncomfortable with the silence. She wasn't sure what to say to him; they had been friends once, she kept repeating to herself. They had been friends once, and he didn't want to hurt her. He was in enough trouble as it was.

"It's harder alone," Eames said finally. He looked at her as he put the cup down, a broken expression on his face. "There's no reason to keep on doing it if I'm alone. No reason to even try to fight it, no reason to try to cut back."

"Have you been?"

Eames nodded. "Bad enough you know what I have to do to survive, to get what I need. Bad enough to think about it. But you're there, right there, and I know you are. I know you're listening, can't help but listen." He reached across the space between them and cupped her face in his large hand. He looked ready to cry or scream, as if he wanted to run away and simply never be found again. "As much as you must hate me, and I'd deserve it, I still need you here."

"There has to be other ways..."

"I wish there was, sometimes. Other times, I think it would be kinder if I'd just man up and slit my own goddamn throat, get it over with." He ran his thumb across her lower lip. "I wish I was a better man, Ariadne. I really do."

"You can get that back," she whispered, putting one hand over his. "You can be the friend I remember, the one that made all those awful jokes." Her eyes watered. "You don't have to do this to yourself anymore."

"I can't be fixed, Ariadne," Eames murmured. He leaned forward and pressed a chase kiss to her slack lips. "All that's left of me is ruin. But I can keep you safe. I'm lost, I'm done for. But you, I can keep you safe. I can do that much."

She could feel the fine tremor in his hand then, the way his lip trembled and his gaze wavered a little bit. It was a craving, she knew. He wanted the Xanax so badly, was fighting to hold out long enough for her to leave the room. He didn't want her seeing how many he had to take, how little was already left in the bottles he had received from Griffiths.

It was just a matter of time before he called someone over to look for another dose. It was just a matter of time before she was tied up in the closet to keep someone from knowing she was there and trying to get her involved in that.

"Please, Eames. Just call Arthur. Let him help you."

"He can't help me," Eames replied coldly, retreating from her. "No one can."

***

Ariadne had been dozing when she heard Eames' voice. He was talking in a muted, hushed voice, and Ariadne shook her head a little to clear it. "...hours, if possible. And no one going into the second room. I'm taking care of a friend." He paused. "Yeah. That works great." Ariadne cracked open the bedroom door and saw him scrubbing at the side of his face tiredly. "I need to keep moving. Should I meet you? I could..." He frowned, catching sight of her out of the corner of his eye. "But you... It hadn't been the right time before, Martell," Eames said, a desperate thread in his voice. "You'd _said,"_ he began. Ariadne could hear the whine now, the desperation clear as day.

Eames hit the end button on his phone in another moment, disappointment clearly etched into his expression. "We're going to move _now,"_ he said, voice hard. "Can't stay here for much longer, and especially not if I'm going to keep you safe."

"Why? What's happened?" She followed his gaze to the doorway leading to the kitchen, and all she could see were feet sprawled on the floor. "Who's that?"

"No one you know."

Ariadne looked at his cold face, the hard glittering chips that were his eyes. There was no tremor in his form at all, no sense of doubt about him. "What happened?" she asked quietly. "How can I help you?"

His eyes swept over her face, the lack of recrimination in her tone. "Pack your things. One bag only," he said shortly. When she didn't move immediately, he blew out an annoyed breath. "He saw you. The living room wasn't good enough, he didn't wait when I told him to. So he saw you and thought you were for sale, too." Eames brought his hands together and cracked his knuckles, expression flat and empty. "I told you I'd protect you. I meant it."

"Thank you," Ariadne said faintly, not sure what else to say.

Eames nodded briskly. "I'll take care of him. You need help packing?"

She shook her head. "I'll do it." It wasn't as if there was a lot to pack. "I'll be ready."

"One of the good things about you," he said, a ghost of a smile hovering about his lips. "So very flexible and adaptable. Probably why everyone has such wonderful things to say about you."

Ariadne frowned at him. "What? What do people say?"

"You don't know?" He looked at her blank face and gave a bitter laugh. "Somehow I should have guessed. You didn't know anyone else but us for the longest time. You wouldn't know where to listen to gossip in the industry, wouldn't know where to look. Maybe it's why you never found me and actually thought I'd gone to ground."

She almost said _Didn't you?_ but held her tongue. She remembered the feel of the twisted burn scars, the panicked terror in his eyes when he was hallucinating fire all over the apartment in his withdrawal. He had told her later that withdrawal could possibly kill people, that several times he had thought he was hovering on the edge of death. Somehow he hadn't died yet, though sometimes he wished he had.

"I have some stuff in the kitchen that'll make it hard to identify him," Eames continued, as if he was merely talking about cleaning up a mess on the kitchen table. "I'll wipe down prints, just in case some enterprising cop decides to actually do his job. I want to be out of here within the hour, Ariadne."

"Where are we going?"

Eames' expression grew even more shuttered, something Ariadne hadn't thought was possible. "It's the last resort," he said, voice sounding dead. "But now I have no choice."

Ariadne didn't know what he was talking about, but she had the feeling that she didn't want to find out.

***

Eames took a complicated route meant to discourage anyone from following him, but it also served to thoroughly confuse Ariadne. Nothing looked familiar, and there was a tangle of languages all around her. She could pick out the French or English easily enough, though there was another predominant language she couldn't decipher. Stores had signs in French or some other language she couldn't read. She would guess that they were still in Europe, though she couldn't tell exactly where they were. Eames brought her through a maze of alleyways until they came to a back door. He gave a name she never heard of before, and then they were entering the narrow corridor. Eames followed the heavyset man that had met them at the door, his grip tight on Ariadne's arm. Even without it, she wouldn't have strayed far from his side. The heavyset man had even deader eyes than Eames', and she had no doubt that he would kill her without any qualms if she ran.

The place was set up like a boarding house, and there were two tiny rooms with single beds connected by a bathroom. Eames set Ariadne up in one of them and made sure to lock and bolt the door leading to the corridor. For good measure, he put the dresser in front of the door. "You don't _ever_ go out there," he told her in low tones. "They'll think you're for sale, too, and they won't take no for an answer."

Ariadne merely nodded and suppressed a shiver at the certainty in his tone. There wasn't much to unpack, and Eames had given her whatever breakfast bars and snacks he had salvaged from his apartment. She knew that he had his gun, pills, PASIV and a knapsack of clothes. Those were all his worldly possessions at this point. Everything else was gone, and there was nothing left for him to barter with but his body.

Ariadne sat down on the bed and looked around the blank, featureless room. There were no windows, no decorations. It was the kind of place commonly rented out by the hour, and part of her ached for Eames. He was so lost and couldn't trust that she would actually want to help him, yet part of him still hoped for it at the same time. "I'll take care of you," he said from the doorway to the bathroom. "I'll lock my side of the bathroom if I'm busy," he said, making a vague gesture behind him. His room was just as empty and featureless, and there was an almost defeated cast to his shoulders. "Stay here, keep silent. I'll bring you things to stay busy if I can, more notebooks or books or things if I can get them." He scrubbed his jaw tiredly. "I don't know how long we'll have to stay here. Maybe a long time."

His voice was so soft, so sad. Ariadne stood and put her arms around him. It startled him, and after a moment Eames returned the hug tightly. "They won't hurt you, Ariadne. I promise you that," he whispered fiercely. "I can still do that much."

She thought of telling him to bring her back to Arthur. She thought of telling him that Arthur would find a way to help him, that there were rehab facilities that could get him off of Xanax and somnacin, that there were better ways to cope with the awful betrayals he had suffered. But she knew he couldn't hear it; he didn't believe the words and didn't think he could be saved.

"Things have to get better," she told him, hoping it was true.

It wasn't.

The door to Eames' room was locked at intermittent times, and sometimes Ariadne could hear grunts and noises through the thin pasteboard door. She tried retreating to her own room, but it was hard to sketch or pretend she didn't know what was happening on the other side of the bathroom door.

It was worse the time she heard a crash and Eames' cry of pain. "Wait!" he was saying, "Just wait a bloody second!"

Ariadne got up and of course the door to Eames' room was locked. She could hear the sound of punches and grunts, of Eames begging someone to stop, wait, not like this, just _wait,_ goddammit, give him a moment...

She was pounding on the door before she could stop herself, yet still it went on. She could feel the tears running down her face, her mind running in horrible circles as she put together what must be happening on the other side of the door. Finally was silence, terrible silence.

The front door to Eames' room slammed shut after a few more minutes. Another few minutes and then Ariadne heard the sound of his dresser being shoved in front of his door. Eames unlocked the door to the bathroom, his expression just as distraught as Ariadne's. His lower lip was split, there was a bruise at his temple and he had pulled on a pair of pants that hung low on his hips. She could see scratches along his torso as well as livid red finger marks around his throat and arms. He lurched into the bathroom, his gait off and eyes wild in a different way than his withdrawal gaze had been.

"Eames?" she whispered.

"Get out," he rasped, grasping the door frame as if for dear life. "Out, out, out!"

Ariadne went to her room and shut the connecting door. She could hear sobs over the sound of running water, could hear him crashing about in the bathroom. After a few tense minutes, he shut off the water and it was silent in the bathroom.

"Eames," she called through the door. He didn't respond, and she waited another minute before calling for him again.

He still didn't respond, and it felt like forever that he must have been in there, silent. She heard him finally leave the bathroom, and she opened her door. His phone was ringing in the other room, and he picked it up with trepidation, shoulders hunched.

Eames was quiet, and she crept closer to hear what he was saying. It was something about how the man hadn't waited for the condom or lube, how he had simply beaten him until he nearly passed out, then went ahead with what he wanted. Ariadne backed away slowly, tears forming in her eyes at his flat description. "I can't," he was saying in that same tone of voice. "It's not backing out of the deal, Martell. I _can't._ I'm still fucking bleeding right now."

Ariadne looked around the bathroom, seeing a towel shoved into the waste basket. With shaking fingers, she pulled it out and saw the streaks of bright red blood on it. She half turned and saw Eames still on the phone, back to her. His back was marked up worse than his front had been, the scratches much deeper.

Eames seemed to curl in tighter on himself at whatever Martell was saying. "Yeah," he said, defeat in his tone. "I can still do that. That's still on the table."

Shoving the bloody towel back in the waste basket, Ariadne moved and sat on the edge of her bed. She watched Eames sway a little in concern, but stayed where she was until he hung up the phone and turned to face her. The bright expanse of sterile white tile was between them, and he started walking toward her. His steps were halting and painful to watch, and Ariadne bit the inside of her cheek to keep from crying at the sight of it.

"You should've stayed silent," he said, voice hoarse and scratchy. "He could've broken down the door if he wanted to. I couldn't stop him if he wanted to. I wouldn't have been able to..."

Ariadne got up and pulled him into her room. She took the phone from his slack fingers and had him curl up beside her. "Stay here a minute. There's nothing else going on, right?"

"N-not for a while," Eames stuttered, a shiver rolling through him.

He let Ariadne pull him to lie down beside her on the bed. He was on his side, curled around her and holding onto her tightly. Eames pressed his face into the valley between her breasts and started sobbing when she stroked his neck and shoulders. "Can't you avoid this?" she whispered softly. "Isn't there any other way?"

"I can't avoid what I can't control," Eames sobbed. "I'm losing it, Ariadne. I can't... He only gives me enough for the day, just enough to keep me on edge, just enough to make me stay." His tears felt hot against her skin, and Ariadne couldn't breathe. She felt like she could tip him over, make him do or say something drastic that would get himself killed. "There's no leaving now, no going back. There's nowhere else to go."

Ariadne didn't say anything, and he lapsed into silence. She started singing the lullaby that had comforted him before. Eames cried himself to sleep, arms still wound around her. She bit her lip and lifted the phone in her hand. It wasn't the same phone she had seen him with before, and she could only guess it wasn't his.

Fuck it. It was worth the risk.

Arthur picked up right away. "Hello," he said, voice neutral and cautious.

"Arthur, it's me. I don't know if this is a safe line," she said, words spilling out in a rush. His gasp of recognition was worth it, and she blinked back her own tears. It had been weeks, but it felt like an entire lifetime had passed since she had last seen him in Copenhagen.

"Are you all right?" he asked, intensity coming through his voice. She could hear all he couldn't say on an unsecured line, and she smiled to hear the familiar tones again.

"I'm not hurt, and I still feel movement. So we're good that way." Her tone was reassuring, and Arthur's relieved exhalation at least told her that the unspoken words were heard. "Eames is in a bad way. He can't forge, can't hold a level, and we're God only knows where because selling himself is the only way he can get pills to keep from withdrawing."

Arthur was silent for a minute, and all Ariadne could hear was the click of computer keys as he no doubt tried to trace the line. "Are you in a safe place?"

"After today? I'm not sure for how much longer. I can't imagine there's worse than here. This has got to be what rock bottom is." Ariadne blew out a breath. "There's still something left in him, there has to be."

He didn't contradict her, though Ariadne guessed that he would have sorely wanted to. There were better things to do now that she had him on the phone, however. "You're coming up somewhere in Brussels," Arthur said slowly. "It's tracing the exact location, but at least you're in a large enough city that I can possibly try to arrange something."

"Train station, perhaps? It's large and public. I don't think anyone would want this getting out into public view."

"Considering how far afield he would've had to go to stay out of sight? I wouldn't think so either," Arthur mused. He paused. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'll feel better when I'm home," she said softly. She shut her eyes and thought of their apartment, the bright sunlight streaming in through the windows. "I'll feel better when this is over and I know he won't have a seizure and die."

"I'll do what I can," Arthur said, the promise in his voice. "I know what city you're in, at least, and I can narrow it down from there. Unsecured or not, the number's helpful."

Ariadne looked down at Eames' head, still pillowed on her chest. "He's lost, Arthur. His entire world is chaos." She sighed. "He can't even remember that we would've helped him."

"I can't change that," Arthur said quietly. More clicking in the background, then a soft and satisfied grunt. "But I'll find you and I'll bring you home. I promise you that. I _will_ find you, and it _will_ be okay."

"I know," Ariadne said with a smile. "I trust you."

Not _I love you,_ not on an unsecured line. Not when someone might be able to use her as a weapon against Arthur, when all of his plans might still be unraveled.

But he heard it anyway, just as she knew he would. "I trust you, too," he murmured.

Even after she hung up, she still carried hope with her. Arthur knew she was alive, and he would get around whatever mess Eames had dragged her into. All he had needed was a place to start to narrow his focus.

 _I'll see you soon, Arthur,_ she thought, a ghost of a smile on her lips. She couldn't wait to go home again.

***

"You shouldn't have called him," Eames said. He had realized she had his phone soon after waking up, but it wasn't anger in his tone. It took her a moment to realize that it was fear, and that his hunched shoulders were shaking.

"Why? What's happening?"

"It's not mine. Mine got broken a while ago. Martell pays for that one, texts me who to expect and what I'm supposed to do," Eames said, syllables falling in a frenzied, staccato rhythm. "He'll see the number. He'll trace it." Eames looked up at her, eyes empty pools of regret. "You put a target on him, Ariadne. He can't help you if he's dead."

"Arthur said we're in Brussels," Ariadne said quietly. "He'll make arrangements. He knows people, and he can get us out."

"No. You don't know what I'm dealing with, and he doesn't know this kind of thing."

Ariadne watched him pace, but his steps were jerky. The phone in his hand trilled; Eames halted abruptly and checked it. Eames' entire posture had tightened, lips thinning as he looked at the phone. "We can't live this way," she said quietly. "You're worried every time you have to sneak out to get me food, you're terrified about what else is coming next. It's going to kill you faster than the pills will."

"He doesn't give me enough to run," he said, looking at her with bleary eyes. "I can't run. He saw to that. This is what I get for turning him down before. This is what I get for trying to do it on my own." Eames shook his head. "I had to fall to my knees to even get this much, and he laughed the entire time. There's no escaping it, even if I could. There's nowhere else to go, Ariadne. Nowhere else but next door, doing my time until I get my doses for the day." He couldn't meet her eyes, and he backed away from her grasp. "You shouldn't have called him. There's nothing he can do, nothing." He looked up, fear and pain in his expression. "There's nothing left here, Ariadne. Nothing at all."

She didn't try calling him back to talk. There wasn't anything else to say.

***

It was quieter in Eames' room after that, muted voices that were muffled by the door. Footsteps were lighter, and sometimes there seemed to be feminine voices, too. Ariadne was wondering how to get a message out to Arthur the next day when the door to Eames' room banged open. She froze in place in the bathroom, selfishly glad that the door was locked. There was a sharper voice, masculine and deep; Eames' voice in response didn't carry the falsely confident tones that it did when he was speaking with customers.

This couldn't be good.

Cleaning herself up quickly, she eased off the toilet and crept close to the door connecting their rooms. She could hear the rumble of voices resolve into words as she pressed her ear against the door jamb.

"You wouldn't be trying to _leave,_ would you Nicholas?" came the sharp masculine voice.

"Of course not," Eames replied. He was closer to the bathroom door than the other voice, and Ariadne had to wonder if it was intentional. He kept promising to protect her from the life he was leading, though it seemed as though it was backfiring royally.

"So that number you called...?"

It had only been a day. It shouldn't have shown up so soon unless he was looking for it, unless he was tracking Eames that closely. He had certainly been afraid of it.

"Someone I used to know, but the number changed. I hadn't let the bloke know I was leaving the neighborhood, and didn't want to have him kick up a fuss I left."

"You didn't call sooner," the sharp voice pointed out. He didn't sound like he was buying the excuse, and Ariadne hoped that Eames wasn't about to get hurt because of it.

"Didn't think of it sooner," Eames replied in a careless tone.

Three brisk, short steps and then there was a pained gasp from Eames. There was the sound of him crashing to his knees. "You're mine now, Nicholas," the sharp voice said. "You won't escape me. If you try, I will find you and you will regret it. Am I understood?"

 _"Yes,_ dammit. I'm not trying to leave. I wouldn't."

There was a short pause. "Of course you would. You're a stubborn bastard." There was a sharp slap, and Ariadne winced at the sound of it. "Show me how grateful you are that I took you in, Nicholas. Show me how much you want to be here."

She crept away when she heard something that sounded like a zipper. Quietly, she curled on her bed, facing the bathroom. Arthur knew she was still alive and that Eames was in trouble. Arthur knew they were in Brussels. He wouldn't leave any stones unturned to find her and bring her home. She had to think about that. She had to focus on that.

Staying here until the baby was born was unthinkable.

***

"Oh, Jesus Christ," Eames said the next day, loud enough that Ariadne could hear it through the bathroom door. There was a low rumble, and then Eames rapped sharply on the door once. He flipped the lock and yanked it open.

Arthur was standing there, looking as impeccable as ever.

Ariadne launched herself at him, burying her face in his jacket and inhaling the scent of him. It had haunted her dreams since her kidnapping, and it was so hard to believe that this was real. If she didn't know that Eames was incapable of holding a dream, she would have tried to change something about the room just to check.

"Thank God you're all right," Arthur was saying. "I bought an hour's time, it should be enough to set up things."

"What are you talking about?" Eames asked, voice raw and broken.

"I disconnected the number Ariadne called as soon as I got a location. It took me a little while to ask around, but I was able to track you down," Arthur said, looking at Eames while still stroking Ariadne's back. "You went out of your way to make it difficult, asshole. But we'll fix this."

Eames was shaking his head. "Can't be done. It _can't."_

Arthur gently freed himself from Ariadne's tight grasp and took out a pill bottle as well as handwritten directions. "I'm giving these to Ariadne. You won't die on the way out from withdrawal. I've got that covered." His expression didn't change, but Ariadne felt the tension bleed out of him at Eames' stunned gaze. "It didn't have to be this way. You should have come to us sooner, Eames. This could have gone down a lot differently."

"You're not going to make it out of here," Eames whispered. "Martell's not going to let me go."

The smile on Arthur's face was more like a shark's, but Ariadne found it comforting at this point. He planned for everything, and he would take control of this situation. "There's going to be a rather obvious diversion in a few hours' time. It's going to be a while before he can clean up the mess I'm going to make."

"Arthur," Eames began, shaking his head.

Fast as lightning, Arthur grabbed Eames by the front of his shirt and pulled him close, teeth bared in a grimace. "At any time you could have talked to us. This could have been prevented if you just opened your mouth and _told us._ I don't want to hear excuses, Eames. You will follow the directions as I've put them together and this will work, or I'm coming after you myself. I know about Martell's reputation, Eames. He's going to burn you up and put you to work under a PASIV if the real world prostitution isn't going to work out." Eames was pale and weakly pushed at Arthur's hand. "Or has he already threatened to do that?"

"Why don't you just take her and run?" Eames asked, pulling away from Arthur. "You have what you want now."

"This will kill you," Arthur told him in flat tones. "Is that what you want?"

Eames didn't reply. Ariadne thought that perhaps it was what he wanted, all he thought he deserved. She put her arm on Arthur's, trying to calm his wound up posture. "I'll make sure we're out of here on time and according to plan." She pulled him down for a kiss, and Eames looked away, back pressed against the wall. Ariadne let her hand run down his chest, feeling the strength in him. "We're going to be okay now, I know it."

Arthur smiled at her, eyes crinkling at the corners. He bent down to kiss her again, as if could devour her with his mouth and simply carry her out of that building. "I'll be at the train station, and I'll have backup. I'm taking you home tonight."

Ariadne should have known it wouldn't be so simple.

***  
***


	5. Obsolete

Arthur's diversion was a gas main break in the building next door, which led to an explosion that rocked the buildings around it. This created mass chaos and the partial evacuation of the entire neighborhood. Ariadne had packed her few things in her bag and Eames' in his. He kept staring at the pocket she had put the directions and the bottle of pills, looking as though he couldn't be sure if they were still there. "If you can't trust in Arthur," she had said firmly, "you're going to have to trust in me."

Eames didn't reply, and sat on the edge of his bed, holding onto it with a white knuckled grip. "It's not going to work."

The directions had been more for Ariadne than for Eames, since she hadn't recognized the area and wouldn't know where to go if she was separated from Eames. As far as she was concerned, the pills meant that Eames would make sure _not_ to get separated.

"Was Arthur right? Was he going to put you under?" Ariadne asked quietly.

His eyes only got as high as her jawline. "It doesn't matter, Ariadne. None of this does."

"It matters, Eames. It's _got_ to matter."

But then there had been the explosion next door, and it was time to run.

Ariadne grabbed Eames' arm and yanked open the door leading to the narrow corridor. He nodded in the direction that would lead out, and Ariadne followed closely. There were panicked shouts everywhere, and people were starting to enter the hallway. Eames moved quickly, his longer legs making short work of the hallway. Ariadne caught glimpses of hollow eyes and sunken cheeks of some men and women in different doorways. Others didn't open at all, and she wondered if that meant they were under sedation and hooked to a PASIV.

The heavyset man at the door was there, pushing a one or two thin and bony men backward. "No word from Martell, so get back to your rooms," he snarled. He sneered at Eames when he approached. "That means you too, pretty boy. Martell revoked pass through rights."

Eames merely pulled back and punched him across the face in reply.

The heavyset man staggered backward, and his head collided with the stone wall. One of the thin men took the opportunity to dart forward and seize his knife. Without warning, he simply started stabbing the heavyset man over and over again, eyes fever bright and lips pulled back in a rictus grin. Ariadne saw needle marks all over the exposed bits of skin on his arm, all different kinds of needle gauges. The other thin man plunged his fingers into the heavyset man's eye sockets, screaming angrily in German.

"Let's get out of here," Eames said, moving around them to the side door. "Quickly. There won't be much time before someone notices he's down."

It took a moment for Ariadne to get her bearings once they were outside. It was still bright outside, still summer. She recognized some of the building names from Arthur's map as they ran past, Eames leading the way through the dizzying maze of alleys. She could pick out the places where Eames would have gone for food or snacks as they wove through the crowds starting to mill about in the streets.

Their ultimate destination was the train station in a much nicer part of Brussels; part of the problem would be in getting there. Arthur's notes indicated that he wanted to secure the train station personally, because the few people that were able to help were involved in staging the diversion and keeping the police at bay. He couldn't be in two places at once, no matter how much he might want to, and he had to trust that Ariadne would get to the train station. She couldn't even imagine the worry that must be running through him, though he sometimes seemed to be more of an adrenaline junkie. He could never do anything simple. He liked making order out of chaos, of pulling all sorts of disparate data into a coherent whole.

Arthur had included money for a cab if necessary, but Eames shot down that idea as soon as Ariadne suggested it. "Can't trust the lot of them," he told her shortly. "Half of them are on Martell's payroll in this area, and there's no time to figure out who's who."

It was a long and tense walk through the streets, and Ariadne struggled to keep up. Eames had tossed Martell's phone away in one of the alleys, so there was no way to contact Arthur to let him know about the delay in getting to the train station. "What about a bus?" she asked finally, feeling tired and footsore. Eames stopped abruptly and she crashed into him. He had an arm around her to steady her, and he looked at her in concern. "Don't tell me the bus drivers are part of some kind of network, too?"

"We're not in the right area to get a bus to the train station," he said after a moment, expression softening. "Maybe a few transfers can get us there."

She pasted a smile on her face. "All right, then. Lead the way."

There wasn't any incident with the first bus. Eames was just starting to relax his guard a little when he tensed up again. "Shit," he muttered under his breath. "Shit, shit, shit."

Ariadne dug into her pocket for the bottle of Xanax. She had been alarmed at how many pills he had taken so far, and it had only been three hours since the distraction. "What is it?" she asked, hand tight around the bottle.

"I recognize that bloke. I don't think he's seen me yet," he said, turning his head. "We're going to have to get off this bus. Maybe we'll have to risk a taxi, then."

"Who is he?" Ariadne asked in a low tone.

"Competitor," Eames said shortly, keeping his head down. He looked up though his eyelashes, tension in his form. "He's seen me before, and it won't take long for Martell to figure out where we're going if he makes the connection to tell him."

"Fine. We'll get off, no distractions. Stay calm, and he won't notice you."

Ariadne wasn't sure which man Eames was talking about, but none of the ones in the direction of his gaze were staring at them. She grasped his hand. "It's going to be okay."

He looked up, anguish in his features. He didn't believe her. For a while there, he had almost started to hope. Now she could see that he had lost that hope, and he was starting to believe that there was no way out for him. "I'm sorry," he said suddenly. "For whatever it's worth, I'm so sorry, Ariadne."

"I know," she said softly, giving his hand a squeeze. "We're going to be okay," she said. She looked up and couldn't tell if anyone was looking at them yet. "Bus stop's ahead. We'll make it. We'll be okay. You've got to believe that."

They were both pretty paranoid as they got off the bus and tried to blend into the crowds. They were in a more heavily populated area of the city, with more tourists milling about. "Maybe we should split up," Eames started saying. His eyes darted everywhere, and he licked his lips a little nervously. "They don't know you, so you should be safe. You'd get to Arthur. I can go to ground again, disappear if I have to."

They both knew the remaining pills were in Ariadne's pocket. They wouldn't last out the rest of the day even if she handed them over. "You could die," she said softly, touching his arm in concern. "It won't just be feeling bad, you said. You could actually die."

"We all die sometime," he replied, shrugging and pasting a smile on his face. It wasn't quite flippant the way he intended it to be.

"No, we stick together. It won't be that much farther, especially if we take a taxi." Ariadne stepped toward the street, waving down a taxi. Eames scrubbed at his face but followed her in when it stopped, not recognizing the cabbie. That didn't necessarily mean anything, but at least it wasn't an immediate concern.

It had been hours after the explosion, and it was all over the news feeds being piped reported over the radio. There had been casualties, and Ariadne tried to ignore that part of the report. Five confirmed dead, fourteen injured. Eames had sat there numbly, and Ariadne was left to make small talk with the driver. Talking over the news reports help to distract her from what had happened. _Arthur,_ she thought, her hands clenched tightly in her lap. _We're coming, and we'll be there soon._

The train station was Bruxelles-Midi. One of the larger stations, it was bustling and huge, with connections to several major cities. Arthur hadn't said which one would be their final destination, but he had multiple tickets prepped for different rail lines to be safe. There were shops here and there, but it still had a depressing appearance. "Careful of pickpockets," Eames said abruptly, almost seeming to wake up from his trance as soon as they walked into the station. "The old art is alive and well here."

"Come on. Arthur told me where he'd be waiting."

It was hard to navigate through the crowds, and Ariadne kept their bags in between them, just in case anyone really would try to pick their pockets. The only thing she really had of worth at the moment was the Xanax and money Arthur had given her. Only a fraction had been used in the cab ride, though Ariadne suspected that Arthur had given her extra in case she needed to bribe anyone to let them pass.

"I don't see him," Eames said, rising anxiety and panic in his tone. His hands were shaking, and Ariadne could see him start to breathe rapidly.

She pressed the pill bottle into his hand. "Take one, then. Just to get the edge off. He's going to be here. He won't leave without us. You know he won't."

"He won't leave without _you._ You're the important one. He doesn't give a shit about me, and the only reason why he's helping me is because you want him to." Eames nodded grimly when Ariadne didn't respond. "I don't know why you bother, Ariadne. He wouldn't."

"You're my friend, aren't you?" she asked, looking at him with a mournful expression. "I wouldn't just leave you when you need me so badly."

Eames looked away and took a deep breath. "I've treated you like shit."

"Yeah. It happens." He looked back at her sharply, not sure exactly how to respond. "You'll just have to make it up to me when you're sober," Ariadne continued, looking at him intently. "Because you know I'm going to make you do that, right? I won't let you do this to yourself. I won't let you throw everything away."

"Nothing left to throw away, you know," he replied, taking a pill out of the bottle. He dry swallowed it and tried to slow his breathing until the Xanax kicked in. "What you see is what you get, Ariadne. I haven't anything left to give."

"We'll see," she said, watching him pocket the bottle. "Let's keep looking. Arthur won't leave the station without us."

They circled the area where Arthur was supposed to meet them a few times when Eames suddenly stiffened by Ariadne's side. There was a man standing a few feet in front of them with a sharp, uncomfortable smile. He was tall and solidly built, with light blue eyes, wavy blond hair and a tailored suit. He looked like any other businessman that was taking the train in the evening, which only made his smile that much more sinister for Ariadne to look at. She wasn't an expert, but she rather thought that his stance indicated he was hiding a gun beneath the suit jacket as well. Eames shuffled back a half step, and the man's eyes narrowed slightly. "Nicholas," he said, and Ariadne recognized the voice instantly. "I take it this is the friend you were caring for while under my employ."

Eames tried to subtly shift Ariadne a little behind him, but she could see that Martell wasn't alone. There was one man beside him, staring at Ariadne as if trying to memorize her face in case she started running in the crowd.

Maybe that was why Arthur wasn't here. He still had to take care of Martell's men, and was still busy. She refused to think the worst.

"You're so very protective of her," Martell continued. He didn't even bother glancing at Ariadne, keeping his entire focus on Eames. "I told you I would find you, Nicholas. Did you think I was lying to you?"

"No, I didn't," Eames said, taking a half step forward. It put him more firmly between Ariadne and Martell, directly into whatever line of fire they would draw. "But as you can see, my friend's feeling better now. So I'm about to send her home."

Martell was just outside of arm's reach. "I'm assuming the sharply dressed man that was here earlier is the contact? The one you tried calling?" His voice was deceptively mild, but neither Eames nor Ariadne missed the menace underlying the tone. "We've seen to his needs, and he won't be helping you ever again, Nicholas."

Ariadne pushed aside the fear threatening to choke her. It was a lie. That was what Martell did, after all. He lied and intimidated, and he saw people as assets. He didn't care about the harm he was doing, didn't care about anything other than his own bottom line. He wasn't acting any differently from the corporate sharks that she had worked with. None of them measured profits as less important than human lives.

She had a hand along Eames' back. The edge of the USP Compact was there. He had stuffed it down the back of his pants to keep it relatively close, but he hadn't needed to use it yet. He wouldn't reach for it now, not in such a public place and with Ariadne right behind him. Eames would never risk harm coming to her.

Eames was very calm on the surface despite the intimation that Arthur was dead. If he felt any guilt about this, it certainly didn't show. "I just need to get my friend home, Martell. Then it's done and I can go back."

"We can extend hospitality to your friend a little longer," Martell replied. The man beside him started forward when Eames shook his head, but Martell held up a hand. "Let's see her, Nicholas. Let's see who was so important that you actually thought you could defy me."

Taking the USP Compact into her hand, Ariadne took a half step out to the side. She was still mostly hidden behind Eames, and they couldn't see her hands. She refused to look afraid when she gazed on Martell's soulless features. His eyes raked over her form, whatever he could see of her, and she could see the calculation there. She was tiny and petite, with rounded and very feminine features. As Eames had told her initially, she would make a lot of money in this line of work. Martell wouldn't think twice about her sensibilities, and he would no doubt keep her drugged if she refused. Eames had known of men who liked rape, and she didn't doubt that Martell knew them, too.

"Let her go home," Eames said, voice even. "That's all this is about. I'm just getting her home."

"No," Martell said, slick and oily smile on his face. "You owe me, Nicholas. You owe me for all the gifts and care that I've given you, for the time and the effort to track you down, and for Henderson's life." His eyes were cold chips in his face. "It's because of you that he's dead. The other two have already paid for that loss."

Eames didn't react even though he felt Ariadne remove his gun from his waistband. "Haven't I already been working off debts?" he asked in flat tones. "Seems I've more than paid for some of them, and not going for actual medical care saved you fees at the clinics."

"I told you. There are other ways to get work out of you." His smile was an edged thing, sharp and uncomfortable. Ariadne tightened her hand around the USP Compact but still kept it hidden behind Eames so that neither Martell nor his associate could see it. "I've already perfected the system, and there are people lining up to pay a lot of money to recreate their fantasies. The others forget there's a real world, and you will, too."

Others. Ariadne remembered the doors that hadn't opened when the explosion had rocked the building, and Arthur knowing all about Martell's reputation.

"You don't get what you want today," Ariadne said coldly before Eames could open his mouth to reply to that. The muzzle of the gun was pressed along the inside of Eames' arm, still hidden from the others' view. She didn't want to start a panic in the station with all the civilians around, but she would if she had to. She was the one with the gun in hand. Martell and his associate still had to reach inside their coats, and at this range she wouldn't miss.

Martell laughed. "It'll be so much fun to break her, Nicholas. Maybe I'll let you watch."

Eames started forward, lips drawn back in a snarl. Ariadne drew the gun and pointed it at Martell, using the triangle stance that Arthur had taught her. "Leave us alone and you get to live," she said, voice tight. Her hands were steady and her voice was even, eyes sharp and assessing Martell. This was adrenaline. This was fight or flight, his life held in balance against hers, her child's and Eames'.

If she had to choose, it was no question of what she would do next.

"A little bite, hm?" Martell asked smoothly. His associate shifted position and Ariadne drew back the safety. "Well. She can handle a gun, then."

Someone to the side was screaming, and the crowds were beginning to part and panic around her. Ariadne ignored it, keeping her eyes on Martell and his associate. "If he moves again, you'll see just how well I handle it."

Martell chuckled and held up his hands. He made a slight motion of his right to his associate, who stopped moving. "How long are you going to be able to hold that position, little girl?" he taunted. "Think you have what it takes to play with the big kids?"

Ariadne didn't look away. "Eames, take their guns."

"Did you really think we were the only ones here?" Martell continued, not phased in the slightest as Eames came closer. His head rocked back when Eames punched him in the mouth. He finally turned his attention to Eames, eyes glittering with rage. "You'll pay for that, Nicholas."

Eames didn't reply, and simply reached for the Beretta inside of his jacket. He pointed it at the associate and took his Ruger. Eames slipped the Ruger into the back of his pants, not having anywhere else to put them, and he stepped back beside Ariadne. "We're leaving, Martell. You can't hold us here."

Martell snorted and stretched his lips in a thin line. "Did you really think you could get away from me?" There was something cold and calculating in his gaze. "You really should have known better, Nicholas." He dropped his arms to his sides. "And you really should have checked more thoroughly."

Ariadne knew there was shouting behind her and to the right, but she ignored it in favor of keeping an eye on Martell. At his taunting words, Eames started shaking his head. The associate looked like he was taking a half step to the side, shifting his weight. She turned to look at him, to see if he was really going to make a move. It was just shifting her gaze a little bit to get him out of her peripheral vision, though that meant she wasn't as focused on Martell.

Everything moved in slow motion, as if slowed down for a movie. Ariadne watched the associate reach behind him and opened her mouth to shout at him to stop. Eames had been watching him, but shifted his head to look at Martell. He was shifting his own weight forward, both of his arms extended. She could clearly see the holdout pistol along his right forearm once she swiveled back to face him, and she was depressing a little weight on the trigger of the USP Compact. Martell's face was contorted in rage, and the spring mechanism was pushing the holdout pistol into his right palm. He would have one shot, maybe two if one cartridge was already chambered. Ariadne wouldn't put it past him to do something like that to give himself a little bit of an edge. Eames was shouting something she couldn't quite understand, something that sounded eerily similar to "Don't be so goddamn stupid!"

And then came the sound of a loud explosion, and time moved forward even faster than it normally did.

Eames lurched to the side, knocking Ariadne aside and to the ground. The rest of the pressure went onto the trigger of the USP Compact, and it went off in her hand. Martell staggered backward, holdout missing his palm and clattering to the floor. From somewhere behind them, another shot rang out and Martell's associate fell to the ground with a perfect circle in the center of his forehead. His own gun skittered from his hand when he landed, spinning until it fetched up against the counter where Arthur should have been waiting for them.

"Eames?" Ariadne whispered at first, pushing at him. He was heavy, and it took a lot to shift his weight off of her.

Her hands came away sticky with blood.

"No," she said dumbly, shaking her head. "No, no, no no..."

Martell was pushing himself up, coughing and clutching at his chest. "Fuck. Bloody fucking hell," he was snarling. Then there were curses in a language Ariadne couldn't recognize, and the clatter of feet all around them. There wasn't any blood on Martell's chest, not like there was that awful spreading stain on Eames' chest, the widening pool of blood beneath him.

This wasn't happening. This wasn't real. This had to be a dream.

There was a ragged gurgle from beside her. "Run," Eames was saying, eyes fluttering closed. "Just run."

The USP Compact was lying on the ground beside her. She didn't have to run, and he was going to pay for what he had done.

She didn't think twice about emptying the entire magazine into Martell's face.

Ariadne looked up when a shadow fell over her and someone reached for the gun. She kicked out and tried to use the butt of the gun as a club, but it was taken out of her hand efficiently and without actually hurting her.

Arthur had a black eye, a welt on his temple covered in dried blood, cuts on his lips and his clothes were spattered in blood and were torn. "It's me," he said, though it was obviously painful to speak. "There were a few more guys than I could handle at once."

Trust Arthur to rely on understatement to make her feel better. She let him lift her to her feet, and Ariadne looked at the chaos all around them. "Arthur..."

"I've already called for an ambulance. I have a contact in Interpol." His arm tightened around her waist. "They're going to chalk this up to a sting gone wrong."

She was starting to shake, feeling the adrenaline rush starting to crash. "Oh, God, we have to do something, Arthur. We have to do something..."

Eames was staring at her, eyes open as he shook his head. "Don't," he whispered, letting his eyes fall shut.

Everything should have crashed to a halt when Eames stopped breathing. Instead, there was still the distant sound of screaming and crying. There was still shouting even farther away, and the wail of a siren coming.

It was too late. Everything was happening too late.

In the days that followed, Ariadne thought perhaps it was all a dream. She had fallen into limbo and this was a nightmare kind of world she had built to explain it all away. Or maybe she had been caught by one of Arthur's enemies and subjected to this as a way of keeping her from running away as they tried to negotiate a ransom. Or maybe she was in that first dingy apartment Eames had taken her to, and he had made good on his threats to put her under sedation despite the pregnancy.

But her totem was the right weight and it tipped over the way it should have. She wasn't trapped in someone else's dream. She couldn't change the world around her, couldn't fold buildings into paradoxical shapes or blot out the sun with dizzying spires that defied physics.

This was reality. And reality was that Eames had fallen so far down he didn't want to get out of it, that he would rather die than keep on pushing forward.

There wasn't anyone else to mourn him. No one else had known him, and Ariadne knew that she and Arthur didn't know anything real about him either. At the end of his life, she perhaps had gotten a glimpse of him, of the hopeless terror deep down below the sea of lies he had built up around himself.

Ariadne and Arthur walked into the cathedral near their home and she lit candles in memory for Eames. There was no way for Arthur get Eames' body released to his custody, so there was nothing for them to bury but the memories from years ago.

She slid her hand into Arthur's and held onto him tightly. Arthur pressed kisses against her temple and lit a candle as well. It was more for her benefit than for his, she knew. The weeks without her had hardened him against Eames, had sharpened some of the more dangerous edges of his personality. She knew he would never trust anyone else this way ever again.

 _I hope you're at peace,_ Ariadne thought, watching the candle flames dance in response to the movement of her breath. _I hope you've found the oblivion you seek. I'm sorry there was no other way out for you._

It was a good thing she didn't expect an answer. There was none forthcoming.

 

The End


End file.
